Fire and Feather Boas
by Hairdryer Chick
Summary: Sirius is majorly in love with Remus, but the werewolf doesn't have a clue. How far will he go to win his crush's affection?


Fire and Feather Boas

Fire and Feather Boas

Hello. This piece of work isn't really done by Hairdryer Chick; I'm one of her sisters. There, now that I've cleared that up, on to the fic! 

"Hmmm." Sirius sighed, staring dreamily into space. He was picturing a gorgeous pair of wise, brown eyes, a half-smile that made Mona Lisa's demure expression look like a twisted sneer in comparison . . .. Oh, and his love was about more than looks. Yes, yes, of course. He loved the conversations and laughter, the brilliant mind like no one else's . . . the slim, lusciously desirable body . . . well, perhaps a lot of it was about looks. But that was beside the point. He was in love with Remus Lupin, and that was what mattered.

In keeping with this disturbingly fuzzy new emotion, our poor lovestruck hero didn't notice that the object of his adoration was in the room until he was speaking . . . and even then, Sirius only caught the last words.

" . . . loved you!" Sirius' ears perked up in a rather canine way.

"Whadiyousay?" he asked, advertising his excellent articulation in the face of extreme excitement.

Remus Lupin looked at him in a somewhat patronizing way that Sirius found irresistible. "I said, those first-year students certainly loved you! But then, all children love a big, black dog who will let them pet him."

Sirius' ears drooped, as did his hopes.

Because the truth was, his God of All that was Wonderful really had no idea that he was loved—no, worshipped. And Sirius planned to keep it that way. He was terrified that his God would be sickened and smite him from on high with a holy bolt of rejection. And who in their right mind would risk rejection?

But it would be really nice to have his feelings returned.

Which was why Sirius could be found in Professor Trelawney's tower, discussing the matter over tea.

"Sibyll, I know I can trust you. You've been my friend since we were in school together, you were the one who foresaw that I would be proven innocent, and anyway you never come down from this tower, so there's _no_ chance you could tell the person I love." He felt very proud for deducing all of this as a reason to trust her. He had agonized over it for a long time—it took at least half an hour to get across the castle and up to her classroom.

Sibyll sipped at her tea and adjusted a shawl. "You've read your horoscope, correct?"

Sirius remembered that she was a Divination teacher. Consulting a horoscope seemed like a natural answer for her to give. "No, but I haven't got a Daily Prophet," he replied. She dug underneath a pile of silky, gauzy material, unearthed a dusty, lit lamp, tossed it aside, and finally reached today's copy of the paper. She handed it to him. "Hmm . . . 'revelations are in store for you, if you use subtlety to reach your goals.'"

Professor Trelawney smiled. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Yes! It means that if I _subtly_ hint that I like him, Remus will confess his love for me!" He felt like jumping from the tower and floating gently to the ground. He felt like climbing huge mountains and returning with the feeling of the cold wind still on his face. He felt like . . ..

"Sirius, are you listening to me?"

He felt like calming down and listening to his confidante. "Sorry."

"How are you going to _subtly _hint that you like . . . him?" Obviously, she hadn't been expecting the gender of his crush.

This brought him fully back down to earth. How _could_ he be subtle about it? Was 'subtle' something that you could _do_ when confessing undying love? "I don't know." He glanced around the room, at the candles, the teacups, the shawls draped over the lamps that gave the room an eerily romantic air . . . the table in the center, big enough for two . . .. "But I think I have an idea. Sibyll, may I borrow your room at dinner tomorrow?"

The witch looked baffled. "Certainly, Sirius, but I don't know why you'd want to . . .." She examined her surroundings as if for the first time. And then it struck her. Sibyll Trelawney immediately turned to a star chart. "Hmm . . . today is Friday . . . the position of Mars at the time of tomorrow night . . . and Jupiter is in the ninth house, how interesting . . . by the astrological laws, the most romantic dinner would be red wine and pasta. The little tortellini. And something containing chocolate for dessert."

Now that he thought of it, the meal _did_ sound romantic. Pasta, not too much sauce—just a bit of olive oil was the way Remus had always liked it. Red wine was always a seductive beverage. And chocolate . . . rather inappropriate visions danced in his head. He shook that head to clear it.

"Thank you, Sibyll! I knew I could count on you!" 

Remus ate another tortellini. "So."

"Um . . . yeah." Sirius took a sip of his wine.

"This is . . . nice." He examined the Divination tower.

"Yeah."

"Mmhmm."

__

Say something to him! Get the subject onto love! "Um . . . yeah." _I couldn't do it. I couldn't ask him. Subtle, Sirius, think subtle._ "So, have you ever . . . I dunno, thought you were in love with someone?" _Great job! That was about as subtle as you could make it! You deserve a doggy treat._

"Yes, I have. Actually, I've currently got an interest in someone." _He sounded reluctant—it's me! Lo, and the god came down to bless me! This is the happiest day of my life!_

"Sirius? SIRIUS! You're daydreaming again." _Oh. I was, wasn't I_?

"Sorry."

"I was asking you whether you'd ever been in love."

__

Oh. "Yes, I have – I mean, I am – I mean . . .." Sirius reached for his fork, but instead grabbed a candle and put it in his tortellini. Realizing what he was holding, he flung the candle away and picked up his fork, using it to beat out the small greasefire that had started on his plate. He flashed a winning smile across the table, and inwardly melted. This time, though, it was from shame rather than infatuation.

The smoky scent of incense seemed suddenly overpowering. He should have suggested that Sibyll move her burners to a more suitable locale, but at the time he'd thought their aroma was rather pleasant, nicely intoxicating. He could have smacked himself.

A bit of quiet music began playing, insinuating itself to fill the awkward silence. Beautiful music, probably played on a violin. But where was it coming from? Eerie. In what he hoped was a surreptitious way, Sirius flickered his gaze around the room, at last alighting on the partially open trapdoor. The player would be out there. "Um, I'm going to get . . . to get some dessert, all right?" he offered, standing.

"Go ahead." Remus, too, was searching for the violin.

Sirius almost tripped over Sybill Trelawney on his way out. She had a violin pressed to her pointed chin, playing a lovely, slow, romantic piece. After recovering from the shock, she followed him out of earshot of the unsuspecting werewolf.

"What luck are you having?" she hissed. He shook his head.

"It's not working. I'm just making a fool of myself. But I think he likes me! He said he currently had an interest in someone!" Sirius clung to this little hope.

Sibyll got that look that said she had consulted tea leaves, star charts, palms, or entrails—Sirius desperately hoped that it wasn't the latter. "The Inner Eye tells me that the burning desire of a one canine will cause a smoldering emotion in another. And I suppose," she glanced at him speculatively, "I could consider you canine. You are, after all, a loveable, playful person. Like a dog at heart." She still didn't know that he was an animagus.

"FIRE!!!" Both jerked at the shout from the tower room, and Sibyll was up and scurrying to the top of the rope ladder in a heartbeat. Sirius followed only a blink later.

The room was blazing. Silk fluttered and was engulfed, while melted wax ran across the floor. Cups, heated beyond their bearing, cracked. The star charts, so painstakingly compiled and designed, were burning. _Burning!_ Flames ravaged even Trelawney's beloved armchair.

A quick spell or two put out the fires, but putting the room back to rights would take immeasurably longer.

Sibyll rolled her eyes and looked at her singed and smoking colleagues. "The _burning_. I should have taken it more literally."

And both Sibyll and Remus were glaring at Sirius. 

Sirius sank deeper into despair. His best friend would never love him how. And his other friend was angry with him for destroying her classroom. Things were just not going his way. He ordered another mug of root beer and put his head on his arms.

"Hon, what's wrong?" asked Madam Rosmerta, leaning over the bar. She looked quite pretty, for a woman in her early/mid forties. She'd always been a wonderful listener, a few years older than Sirius but willing to pay attention . . . he found himself telling her everything.

She listened gravely, even through his several-minutes-long descriptions of how wonderful Remus was. When he finally wound down after blaming himself thoroughly for throwing that stupid candle in the first place, Rosmerta gave him an encouraging grin. "Doesn't it feel better to have all that said?"

He paused. "Yeah. Actually, it does." Perhaps she could help him out. "Do you know what I could do now? After that disaster . . . I'm afraid neither of them will ever talk to me again, and I'll _never_ get Remus to understand how I feel."

She patted his shoulder and gave him another root beer. "This one's on the house, hon. And all you have to do, even if he doesn't like you _yet_, is to _make_ him like you. Make him interested in you. Try physical stuff. Not stuff that would scare him off, but . . ." Rosmerta looked at her hand, still resting on his shoulder. "Like this. 'Incidental' contact. I can't guarantee that it'll work, but you never know. And apologize to both of them. They need to know you're sorry."

He smiled at her weakly. "Rose, you always knew what to say to make me feel better."

Rosmerta's friendly face became wicked for a moment. "Here's your bill, hon."

Sirius gaped at the huge sum. 

They were looking over the Great Hall together, watching the students at their laughter and food fights. "Harry looks really happy, doesn't he?" Sirius asked of the other two, indulgently gazing on the boy. He was sixteen, now, and had acquired quite a following of friends: Hermione Granger, Ron and Ginny Weasley, the Creevey brothers, Neville Longbottom . . . it was so wonderful to see that Harry was enjoying himself, in spite of the tremendous danger that lurked, waited . . ..

"SIRIUS!!!" The combined force of two voices yanked him from his reverie. He almost blushed.

"Huh?" He once again displayed that wit-in-a-pinch that was serving him so well.

"Yes, he does look happy," Remus sighed. Sirius decided that this was as good an opportunity as any.

"Look, Sibyll," he put an arm around her shoulders, "Remus," and he did the same with his other friend (though he pulled this second person a bit closer), "I'm sorry about what happened in the tower. I only wanted to spend a little time with you, Remus, and I was just so happy to be back with you . . . and you know how I get. Daydreaming all the time."

An indignant huff from Sibyll was followed by an arm around his waist. "I forgive you. It was fated to be; my Inner Eye _did_ convey this occurrence to me, as you remember. I simply did not heed it. And you'll help me restore the room, right?" She had come to the Hall for meals today for the simple reason that she couldn't endure the burnt condition of her room.

He gave her shoulder a little squeeze. "Sure. Do you forgive me, too, Remus?"

The other man nodded. "I do. I can't stay mad at you; you're the one who convinced me to come back and teach, weren't you? This job is the best thing that ever happened to me, and I'm grateful for it." He shrugged off the arm. "We ought to get to the teachers' table." Sirius was also privileged to sit at the teacher's table, having been inducted as the Charms teacher after Professor Flitwick's tragic demise (the poor little man had choked to death on a maraschino cherry). Unfortunately, he sat nowhere near either friend. And Professor McGonagall wasn't very good company. 

This 'physical contact' thing wasn't working. Every time he'd find some occasion to touch his friend, Sirius would just get a puzzled (but cute) look from Remus.

"Rose, it's just not working. He doesn't have a clue." _I love the world's densest man_.

She frowned politely. "It always worked with me . . . but you _are_ back on good terms with them, right?" 

"Yes, we're friends again. Plenty of time to rekindle . . ." he winced at the accidental pun, "our friendships while we cleaned up Sibyll's classroom." Madam Rosmerta examined his ash-stained robes and decided not to comment. "It's as if he doesn't see me even as a _possibility_! What can I do, Rose?"

Another frown, this time meditative. Her lipstick-red lips pursed, her eyes closed and then flashed open again. "Perhaps he _doesn't_ see you as a possibility. You've always given the impression of a straight man." Remus gave her the same impression, but she didn't want to dash Sirius' hopes.

"So . . . you're saying I have to find some way to show him that I'm interested in men? How do you propose I do that?" She smiled wickedly, and for once it wasn't about the bill. 

Sirius examined himself in the full-length mirror while Sibyll and Rosmerta adjusted his clothing. "Leather pants, I don't mind—as Muggle clothes go, they're fine—but . . . _orange_ leather? And I thought Muggle shirts had . . . sleeves?"

Rosmerta smacked him lightly. "It's called a tube top. These are from my cousin Charles in London. He's a squib, but he uses owl post like the rest of us."

"And you say that these will let Remus know my orientation?"

Sibyll contemplated loaning him some of her jewelry, but decided not to part with it. "I'm not certain. Muggle things cloud the Inner Eye, and what someone knows is not readable in tea leaves or palms. Entrails might have told me, or a gazing ball . . . however, Hagrid would not part with any chickens, and a certain _Neville Longbottom_ dropped and broke the only crystal I had that was powerful enough to see thoughts." The other two stared. She stared back. They decided not to pursue the issue.

"So . . . what was I supposed to say?"

Rosmerta took a step back and surveyed his appearance. "First, can you affect a lisp?"

Sirius smiled, an impish quirking of lips. "Yeth, I can. What doeth that haf to do with anything?"

"It's a stereotype. Gay men speak with a lisp. Not true, but we're trying to drive the point home, so . . . what do you have to lose?"

"My dignity?"

"Just say this whenever you see him: 'I'm going out to a club _with some men_.'"

He turned to Sibyll. "Didn't you say I had to be _subtle_?"

She handed him today's horoscope. "'A revelation is close at hand. Effort will be rewarded.' So I should try a bit harder."

The women finally backed off and let him examine the final product. He glanced up and down at the figure in the mirror. Not too bad. The leather pants were tight, would have looked fantastic on him if they hadn't been _orange_. The tube top, he liked less, but he reasoned that if it got his love to like him, it would be worth it. 

"Hey, Remuth. I'm going out to a club _with thome men_!" Sirius announced, and Remus looked up from the letter he was reading. He ran his eyes over the clothing, the figure, and the face. Sirius _knew _he was blushing. It was one thing to be in Sibyll's room, with only the women there to see him, but this was just embarrassing.

"Enjoy yourself." Remus went back to the letter.

Rosmerta and Sibyll were waiting for him outside the door (that woman was venturing from her tower more and more often—a distinct improvement). "How did he react?" Sibyll asked excitedly.

He answered her with a string of curses and a tube top thrown to the floor, then stalked to his room to put on some comfortable robes. Ugh! He was never doing that _again_! It had been horribly embarrassing. Afterward, he headed down to Hogsmeade in a foul temper, the two women following him—out of hex range.

Once Rosmerta was back behind the counter, he ordered something stronger than root beer: butterbeer. Sibyll ordered a gillywater and sat beside him.

"My Inner Eye is clearer now," she offered. He didn't respond. "I see you falling in love." No reaction. "You are loved by someone . . . loved very much." At this, he almost revived from his funk, but still did not respond. "The Inner Eye—"

"Would you stop with this Inner Eye nonsense!" shouted a stern, irritable voice from further down the bar. "Sibyll Trelawney, you're nothing but a fraud and you know it!"

"Minerva, don't shout," Sibyll replied, her large, moist eyes looking particularly dewy. "Sirius is having a hard time right now."

The older woman's ire deflated. She'd always had a soft spot for Sirius, though she seldom showed it. "What's wrong, Black?" she asked, and he looked up. What he needed right now was no-nonsense concern, of the kind that neither Rosmerta nor Sibyll could provide. And so he told her the story in its entirety, with additions here and there from either of his friends.

Minerva McGonagall nodded. "I think you might need to take more drastic measures. Remus can't be expected to know Muggle stereotypes; how would such affectations have any influence on him? I think you'll just have to compromise your pride a bit more." 

Sirius was in a horrible mood. It wasn't the nail polish, bright red, or the other various types of makeup that he hadn't known existed. Not even the feminine dress robes; he'd worn worse in his lifetime. No, it was the feather boa that Sibyll had suggested he wear. The thing _itched_.

"So . . . you think this will make me attractive to Remus?" he asked doubtfully. Minerva nodded in a businesslike way.

"What else haven't you tried? Call this a last resort." The three women (their numbers kept increasing—was this a good thing or a bad thing?) were in agreement on this.

They were right. What else _hadn't_ he tried? 

The werewolf openly gawked at his friend. "Sirius . . . why are you dressed like a woman?"

"I . . . I . . .." Oh, forget subtlety. It wasn't working. Sirius grabbed Remus by the shoulders and kissed him, hard. "I love you, and have for years. I've been trying to get your attention all weekend, you twit!"

Remus looked a bit ashamed. "I'm sorry, but I don't feel the same way."

Sirius died inside. 

He avoided the three women. He went to the staff table and sat down. Severus Snape looked depressed, too, but that was no different from his usual appearance. "D'you want to go to a pub?" he asked, thinking that he might as well get _someone_ tonight. To make himself feel better.

"Sorry. If I'd been enough of a zoophile to take any interest in you, I'd still have to say no. I've got an exclusive lover."

Even _Snape_ had someone. "Who is it?"

"Remus Lupin." So _this_ was the revelation.

Sirius died inside . . . again. 

In a tower, a woman plucked petals from a flower. A lovesick girl's form of divination from time out of mind. "He loves me . . . he loves me not . . . he loves me, he . . .." The wind blew through her window, sweeping the flower out of her hands. It went spiraling down, out the window and to the base of the tower, where it would surely wither. "Perhaps it's better this way . . . Sirius could never love me . . ."

Sibyll Trelawney died inside.


End file.
